


Too Familiar

by Rehfan



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Angst with a Happy Ending, Blow Jobs, Cuddling, Familiar Derek Hale, French Kissing, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Masturbation, Outdoor Sex, Pining Derek, Sexual Fantasy, Soft Kisses, Witch Stiles Stilinski, Witchcraft
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-01
Updated: 2016-05-01
Packaged: 2018-06-05 19:11:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 11
Words: 17,573
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6717865
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rehfan/pseuds/Rehfan
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Derek's family has had it. He's too grumpy. They want him to get a boyfriend.<br/>Enter: Deaton as matchmaker.<br/>The only problem is: the match he has in mind for Derek isn't looking for a boyfriend - he's looking for a familiar.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Salios](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Salios/gifts).



> With many thanks to my witchy friend Evalina Phoenix  
> "There's no nicer witch than you!"

“How did you even write up the ad? ‘If you don’t have the time or money for both a boyfriend and a dog, then I, a terrifying werewolf, am an excellent bargain?’” asked Derek, chasing his sister around the house in his panic.

“Derek, relax,” said Laura. “I didn’t advertise you as a two-in-one combo pack, but now that you phrase it like that, maybe I should have. Huh…” She smiled teasingly.

Derek growled at his sister. “You had no right-”

“I had every right!” she said. “This family doesn’t need you stressed out any more than you have been. Moody, flying off the handle, you’re too unpredictable lately. Finding you a boyfriend is the easiest and most practical solution. As your Alpha-”

“Mom would have never done this,” he said to her.

She looked hurt at his words. “Maybe not, but I don’t think that she would have thought finding you someone would have been entirely awful. Besides, Deaton is a wonderful judge of character. He’ll be able to find you someone.”

“Great. Emissary and matchmaker,” muttered Derek. “Next you’ll tell me he’s also an airplane pilot.”

“Stop worrying,” said Laura. “It’ll be fine.”

“Alright,” said Derek. “But do me a favor and don’t tell Peter.”

 

~080~

 

Two weeks passed and Deaton sent for him. He paced in the vet’s exam room and Deaton watched him, a bemused smile on his face.

“You’re sure?” asked Derek for the seventh time. “You’re sure this is the guy?”

Deaton nodded. “As sure as I’ve ever been about anything.”

“Dear gods help me…” Derek moaned.

“Don’t worry. I’ll broker the meeting. But there is one thing…”

“What?”

“You’ll have to hold your wolf form for several days on end,” said Deaton.

“What? Why?” asked Derek.

Deaton hesitated. “Because he will have no idea that you’re a werewolf,” he said.

“Um… I’m just trying to get a date here, Deaton,” said Derek.

“I know,” said Deaton. “Ordinarily, I’d just introduce you two, but this boy is a witch looking for a familiar. On paper, you’re perfect for one another and I think you should meet, but we have to go about it in a rather… underhanded way.”

“On paper?” asked Derek. “We’re good for each other ‘on paper’? What does that mean?” But Deaton continued as though he hadn’t spoken.

“But he’s got too much going on - with his gifts being new and all. He will resist you in his life as a boyfriend. He’s simply not looking in that direction. But if you became his familiar…”

“I see. We’re coming into his life from the side entrance,” said Derek. “That’s not dishonest,” he added sarcastically.

Deaton sighed. “Nevertheless, we have no choice. He wouldn’t be interested otherwise. So in order for this to work, he can’t know. I’m sure you’ll find a way to break it to him eventually.”

“But why wouldn’t he know anyway? You said he’s a-”

“A witch, yes,” said Deaton. “But he’s a witch who’s still learning. And his last familiar… well let’s just say that he tried to get creative and make an inanimate object do the job.”

Derek blinked. “So he’s a dumbass.”

Deaton chuckled. “No, no. Just inexperienced. But eager. He’s new to magic. His mother was a witch, but she died before he came of age, and his father held the secret from him until he couldn’t anymore. So, upon getting his gift when he was nineteen, you could say that he was a tad surprised.” Deaton shrugged and slid a velveteen box across his exam table. “He wants to explore his powers and learn. But he can’t do anything of significance without a familiar. He sent this out to all the neutral supernatural entities in Beacon Hills yesterday morning.”

Derek opened the box carefully. Inside was a coin with an inscription etched into its surface. “A copper note?”

Deaton nodded. “It’s rudimentary and a little old-fashioned, but he’s gotten the grasp of how they work; that’s a good sign.”

Derek knew how the coins worked. Everyone did. All one would have to do is hold it in the palm of your hand under a full moon and it would reveal the message held within. They weren’t just an old-fashioned means of communication. They were corny. Outdated. Outmoded. There were far more efficient ways of communicating in the supernatural world - like texting.

Derek couldn’t help but huff a laugh as he picked the coin up and turned it in his fingers. He looked to Deaton and the emissary nodded and gestured toward the line of moonlight that streamed in one of the windows above them.

Derek held the coin, etching-side-up, under the moonlight and waited.

It fizzled in his hand, a brassy smoke rising from its surface and a face formed in the cloud. It was a fine face, if young. It was tough to tell the details though, the image was just an impression, a mask, but his cheekbones were impressive. The mask spoke:

“Greetings fellow witches and others. Um… not to say that you others are any less important, of course. Okay. So. Here’s the thing: I need a familiar. I know I could go to the local pet stores or enchant one up, but I thought if anyone had one that was sort of gently used or broken in… you know… we could talk prices. Just get in touch with me, Stiles Stilinski, by returning the message by this coin. You know what to do, I hope. And, uh… thanks for your help. Um… may the Force be with you? Or whatever. Bye.”

The fizzing smoke petered out and the mask billowed and disappeared.

Derek turned back to Deaton. “We’re perfect for each other - on paper?”

 

~080~

 

“So… what’s wrong with him?” asked Stiles as he walked carefully around the large black wolf. “Does he bite, rip up your cushions, pee on your stuff?” The animal let out a low growl as if it understood and Stiles jerked backward just a bit.

Deaton adjusted the hood of his cloak to buy time. He didn’t want to actually giggle at the situation. This was supposed to be a simple, professional deal. “Has anyone else offered an inferior familiar?”

“No one’s offered any animals at all,” said Stiles. He kicked at a rock and it went skittering across the leaves of the forest floor. “Witch Boyar was kind enough to tell me what an idiot I am though, so that was nice.”

Deaton smiled softly. “You’re not an idiot, Mr. Stilinski. You’re simply new to the world. You need guidance. You could use a coven.”

“No coven will have me,” said Stiles.

He was trying to hide his misery and Derek could scent it. The wolf cocked its head in curiosity. Most covens are always looking for new witches.

Deaton asked the question he couldn’t: “Why?”

“Something about me not being a legacy. Mom was kicked out of her coven for falling for a non-witch and never rejoined one so they have no idea what kind of witch I’d be… or… half-witch… whatever.”

“That seems altogether unfair,” said Deaton, “and more than a little bigoted.”

“Could you provide me with a few pointers?” Stiles asked hopefully.

“It’s not really my place as an emissary, but I could loan you a few books, give you some simple spells to practice,” he offered.

Stiles lit up and Derek found himself smiling in spite of himself. Stiles exclaimed, “Really?! That would be amazing! Thank you!”

Deaton gave him another quiet smile. “So we have a deal?” He looked over at the wolf who had been sitting quietly monitoring the situation. 

“Yeah,” said Stiles. His eyes fell on the wolf as well. The wolf looked from one to the other. “He’s really smart, isn’t he?”

“Very,” said Deaton.

“Why are you selling him then?”

“I’m not,” said Deaton. “He’s going with you of his own free will.”

Stiles looked confused.

Deaton elaborated: “He’s a free creature whom I have been fortunate enough to befriend. He is his own, however. And he does come with one simple rule: this is for his eyes only.” Deaton stepped aside and revealed a small trunk.

“So… the dog… has luggage?” Stiles asked slowly, attempting to process what was happening. Derek stood on all fours and Stiles jumped back again.

“Wolf,” Deaton corrected. “He’s no dog. And yes, he comes with luggage. Respect his privacy and he will be a good and loyal familiar.” Here Deaton eyed Derek carefully.

“Does he have a name?”

“Call him Derek.”

“Derek? Derek the wolf,” said Stiles. He made a face. “I was hoping for something more impressive.”

Derek made a sound like a cross between a grunt and a hurrumph.

Stiles took another step back before he realized that if the wolf wanted him dead, he would have been hamburger by now. He chose instead to stand up for himself: “What? Seriously? I mean: look at you! ‘Derek’ doesn’t exactly strike fear into the hearts of men, you know?”

“Did you wish for people to fear you?” asked Deaton.

“Well… no,” said Stiles. “But ‘Derek’?”

“Just let him be Derek and don’t look in his luggage and everything will be fine,” said Deaton. “Time for me to go. I’ll be in touch with the books and the spells. But for now, please remember why they’re called ‘familiars’: you and he need to get to know each other - very very well - before you can do anything on a grand scale.” Deaton walked off into the distance until the shadow of the wood swallowed him up.

Stiles looked at Derek. “Come on,” he said, hefting the trunk up, “you look hungry. And I’ve got to convince my dad that a dog is just what I need to help me forget all this magic business.”

Derek growled at him low in his throat and his blue eyes narrowed.

“Right. I know. I know. Wolf… but to my dad, you’re a dog, okay?” said Stiles, marching past Derek and toward his jeep. “A really big, powerful, scary dog.”

Derek shook his head behind Stiles back and raised his eyes to the sky. Sighing, he followed his new witch/human/date? to his new life as a familiar.


	2. Chapter 2

Stiles set the bowls down and watched Derek carefully. “What?” he asked.

Derek looked forlornly at the two bowls. One had water, the other a dog food that smelled hideous. He wanted to transform back right then and there, knock out his new witch, and make himself a steak, but then Stiles’ father walked into the room.

“Oh hey, dad,” said Stiles. Derek sat and watched what he knew would be an interesting exchange.

“Stiles… what in the hell?” began Sheriff John Stilinski.

“Um… he followed me home?” said Stiles hopefully.

The sheriff sighed deeply, threw his keys on the kitchen table, and removed his coat. “We’re not keeping it.”

“Him,” corrected Stiles. “And I can’t see giving him over to a shelter, can you? I mean… look at him! Look at that face! You can’t turn him over to strangers!”

“Stiles, right now, to him, we’re the strangers,” said John. “We can’t keep him, son. Do you know how much those things cost? And he’s huge! How much does he eat anyway?” John circled the table to get a closer look at Derek. “You are…,” the sheriff paused mid-sentence to look into Derek’s eyes, “…a magnificent creature. Look at you.” He reached a tentative hand out to pet Derek.

It took everything in Derek to allow the sheriff to pass his hand over his coat without comment.

“Soft too,” said John. “He have fleas?”

“Not a one,” said Stiles.

John stood back and cocked his head. “He belongs to someone, Stiles.”

“Nope. Not chipped. Already checked,” Stiles lied smoothly. He could see his father coming around and he leapt on his chance: “He would deter prowlers. Extra protection for the house.” John raised an eyebrow at his son. Stiles pressed on. “I’d walk him every day. He’ll sleep in my room. I’d feed him and wash him. He’d be part of the family in no time.”

“I don’t know…”

Derek realized that Stiles’ powers of persuasion were fading fast. If this was going to work - and Derek himself wasn’t sold on the idea so far - he had to do something. He padded over to the sheriff and nosed at the underside of his hand, licking his palm and giving a soft whine.

The sheriff sighed. “We give this two weeks.” Stiles did a silent joyful gesticulation. “Two weeks,” repeated his father raising his voice slightly, “and no hiccups - and you’ve got yourself a dog.”  
“Deal!” said Stiles beaming. “Thanks, dad. You won’t regret this.”

His father waved a hand at his son to calm him as he turned and left the kitchen, heading to his bedroom. “I already do.”

 

~080~

 

The first few days were like torture. Derek choked down some of the dog food that Stiles set out, scratched his head with his back paws, and managed to hold his own leash in his mouth when he couldn’t hold it any more. Of all the infuriating injustices in this arrangement, Derek considered squatting and doing his business with Stiles not only bearing witness, but also picking up after him, to be the single most humiliating thing he could possibly go through. His day in wolf form was like hell on earth and he found himself eagerly anticipating Stiles heading off to his college classes on Monday so that he could fix himself something decent to eat and take a shit like a man - literally.

The third day, he was taking a badly needed shower when he heard the rattle of Stiles’ jeep. He couldn’t shut the water off fast enough. He knew he would have only seconds before Stiles bounded up the stairs and called for him. He toweled off as quickly as he could, heading across the hall and into Stiles’ bedroom. He closed the door behind him gently, threw the towel over Stiles’ chair, praying that the boy would think it was his own from that morning, and shifted. He padded to his dog bed and shook off what extra moisture was clinging to him. He knew he was still damp but there was no way to avoid it.

“Hey buddy!” shouted Stiles. “Where are you?” His footsteps were quick on the stairs. “Derek?”

Derek’s eye watched the closed door, but he became distracted by something behind it on the floor.

His trunk was open. He had opened it to put on something while he ate. The clothes were still hanging out of it.

_FUCK._

As Stiles burst through the door, Derek tackled him bodily, landing on top of him in the hallway outside and knocking his breath from his body. Stiles peeked at him from a squinted eye. “Hey, boy,” he wheezed. “Mind getting your really heavy furry butt off me?” Stiles gave him a shove to the side. Derek removed himself and waited for Stiles’ next move as his mind raced.

Stiles bent over and picked up his backpack which had gone flying off to the side when he was pounced upon. “Dad’s working a double today so we’re headed to the basement, you and I,” said Stiles. He reached into the bag and held up a book. “Look what Deaton got us,” he sing-songed, wiggling the book. Derek wagged his tail. He felt stupid, but he couldn’t help but be happy when Stiles looked so excited. Before he could stop him, Stiles reached out a hand to pet him.

“Why are you wet?” wondered Stiles aloud.

Derek took the book out of Stiles’ hand and ran downstairs.

“Hey!” Stiles gave chase.

Derek ran down the stairs, through the kitchen, around the pass-through, and into the living room, where he stopped and dropped the book. He wagged his tail and, Stiles could have sworn, he smirked. Derek raced off past Stiles and up the stairs, shifting in an instant to tuck his things back into the trunk and securing the lid. He shifted back and stood at the top of the stairs.

Stiles stood at the bottom, holding the book by a corner. He looked up at Derek, disgusted. “This is covered in dog slobber. Thanks.” Derek huffed a laugh. Stiles gave him a dirty look. “Come on,” he said to him. “Let’s hope the pages aren’t ruined.”

 

~080~

 

Stiles wasn’t a bad witch, just unpracticed. He delved right into the first spell, reading and re-reading the instructions, stumbling over the Latin incantations, and smiling brightly when the candle lit seemingly on its own. Derek wagged his tail over and over again.

Derek could tell that Stiles was eager to learn, but after the fifth uninterrupted hour of study and repetition, even Derek’s stamina flagged. He started to drowse in the corner of the basement curled up on an old padded blanket.

He awoke to an explosion and a crash. Smoke fogged the room and Derek’s nose was assaulted. He sneezed and looked around.

Stiles was unconscious on the floor, the work table where the candle stood was engulfed in a three-foot flame and threatened to consume the upper floor. Without thinking, Derek shifted and ran to the washer. He turned it on until water came gushing into the washing drum. He grabbed an empty pitcher, dusty from storage, and filled it, racing to the fire and dousing the flames. Two trips and it was out completely. He turned off the washer and replaced the pitcher, catching his breath and waiting for his pulse to slow. He knelt over Stiles, relieved to hear his heartbeat and breathing were stable. He checked for injury and felt a goose egg-sized lump on the back of his head.

The sheriff wouldn’t be home for another three hours. He had time.

He slowly picked up Stiles’ body. He felt so frail, so small. He had wide shoulders, a firmly muscled body, but his long limbs made him seem gangly, almost comical. He carried Stiles up the two flights of stairs to his room and laid him on his bed. As soon as Stiles’ head was on the pillow, he stirred, his eyes fluttering open and Derek almost panic-shifted, but froze instead.

Stiles smiled lazily and murmured: “Beautiful…” before sighing and closing his eyes again.

Derek smirked at his sleeping form. “Stupid idiot,” he murmured affectionately. He slipped on some sweatpants and considered his next move.

He mulled over this decision for a few minutes as he had sat there next to Stiles. If he did nothing and Stiles was seriously injured, he would remain undiscovered, but feel awful. If he put some ice on his head and nursed him a bit, there would be no guilt, but if Stiles woke up fully, his secret would be blown and Stiles might injure himself further in a fit of panic finding a stranger in his room where a wolf should be.

In the end, Derek decided to help him. After all, he wasn’t so callus as to leave a wounded person without care. Nor was he so irresponsible as to ignore his duties as a familiar. He was duty-bound to help his witch. And then there was the elephant in the room: he was supposed to reveal himself eventually. Derek shrugged. This was a good time as any.

As he applied the cold pack he made to the back of Stiles’ head, his heart raced a bit and he held his breath in anticipation of the boy’s reaction.

Stiles moaned in pain and opened his eyes.

“Easy,” said Derek softly.

Stiles stared at the stranger before him. Shirtless. And in his room.

“Who the hell are you?”

Derek’s brain raced. All of a sudden, the confidence in revealing who he really was to Stiles vanished.

“I- I was jogging by and- I heard your dog barking and- I saw the smoke. I came in and you were on the floor and I put out the fire and brought you up here,” said Derek.

Stiles was blinking up at him, leaning up off his pillow, his mouth agape.

Derek raised his eyebrows. “Are you okay?”

“Uh…,” started Stiles, “yeah. Yeah. Sure.” He made to sit up and became dizzy instantly.

“Whoa,” said Derek, easing him back down against the cold pack. “You hit your head pretty hard. What were you doing anyway? Fooling around with fireworks?”

“N-no,” said Stiles. “I was… um… I was…”

“Fooling around with fireworks,” Derek finished for him.

“Look,” said Stiles, reaching back to angle the cold pack better, “do me a favor and don’t tell my dad, okay?”

“I don’t even know your dad,” said Derek. “Is he home?”

“Oh,” said Stiles, “right. Nevermind. Thanks for saving me, I guess.” He squinted up at Derek. “You were jogging this late at night?”

“You were fooling with fireworks this late at night?” Derek countered.

Stiles grunted. “Yeah well, thanks… uh. What’s your name?”

Here Derek froze again. He didn’t think this far ahead. He grabbed for the first male name he could think of. “Peter,” he said. He figured it was close enough.

“Peter,” said Stiles. “Cool. Nice to meet you, Peter. Good looking out.”

“I’ll just… uh,” said Derek, gesturing toward the door.

“Yeah,” said Stiles. “I’d walk you to the door, but uh…”

“Yeah,” said Derek. “Stay there. And your dad’ll be home soon, huh? I mean, with a head injury, you may want to go to the hospital or something.”

“Maybe should.”

“I could stay-”

“No,” said Stiles. “It’s fine. I have my dog. He’s a good protector. Got your attention tonight, didn’t he?”

“Oh, yeah,” said Derek. He wanted to stay. He wanted to remain a human for just a little longer. But he could tell that Stiles wasn’t budging on this one. And what would the sheriff think if he were to see a half-naked man nursing his injured son with no dog in sight? Derek sighed. “Okay.”

He got up and left the room, descended the stairs, then opened and closed the front door to make as though he had left legitimately. He removed his sweatpants, tucking them under the couch cushions until he could retrieve them tomorrow. He shifted back and loped upstairs, resting on Stiles’ bed and allowing the boy to softly stroke his head until Stiles fell asleep.


	3. Chapter 3

The sheriff was not pleased at his son’s condition the next morning. Stiles was hoping to not tell his father anything of what happened the evening previous, but when he vomited on his bedroom rug that morning, the sheriff knew his son had been up to something. He stopped nurse Melissa McCall when he saw her move toward him down the hall of Beacon Hills Hospital.

“Can you tell me anything about my son’s condition?” he asked. “Was he drinking? Did you do a blood test?”

“As far as I know, he’s got a concussion,” said Melissa.

“How the hell did he manage that?”

“Most concussions occur when someone hits their head really hard,” she answered him.

John shook his head. “Sorry. Stupid question.”

She smiled gently. “Actually, that was the right question. You just asked the wrong person. They moved him to room 341 for observation.” She squeezed his arm and turned back to her other duties.  
Sheriff made his way to the room and stood in the doorway, arms crossed. “So,” said the sheriff, “how did you manage to bump your noggin, Scott?”

“Scott?” asked Stiles. “My name’s Stiles, dad.”

“I was just testing your memory,” said John. He moved to the visitor’s chair beside his son’s bed. “And now that we’ve established that your memory still functions, do you mind telling me what the hell you were up to that caused you to bump your head so hard that you vomited all over your rug this morning?”

“Yes?” said Stiles haltingly.

“Yes, what?”

“Yes, I mind?” Stiles replied.

His father pinched the bridge of his nose and sighed, exasperated. “Stiles…”

“I know, dad,” said Stiles. “I know. I know what you think and it’s not that. I swear.”

“Because you promised me, Stiles,” said John.

“I know I promised. No more magic. I did promise,” said Stiles.

“And you broke that promise,” concluded his father, “didn’t you?”

Stiles swallowed hard. “I’m sorry, dad.”

John sighed. He rubbed at his brow, eyes closed. “I wish your mother were here,” he whispered.

Stiles felt a lump form in his throat. “Me too,” he replied. “I’m sorry, dad.”

“Tell me what happened, son. No lies, no embellishments. Just… tell me.”

Stiles left nothing out about the fire as he remembered it. He even told his father about Peter.

“Wow…” said John. “That was- that was beyond lucky. That was extraordinary this ‘Peter’ happened to be jogging by at that time of night.”

“You’re telling me,” said Stiles. “As soon as I’m out of here, I’m gonna find him and thank him personally.”

“I think you should.”

“Oh, believe me. I want to,” said Stiles. Stiles didn’t tell his father that he thought the stranger’s eyes had been unforgettable.

 

~080~

 

It was another three weeks before they were alone again long enough for Stiles to keep on with his witchcraft practice. In the meantime, he had been searching for Peter high and low, he had even tried using his father’s DMV lookup (totally with permission) but without a last name, the search for every ‘Peter’ in Beacon Hills was more than a little daunting.

So, barring any other options, he decided to turn to his craft in order to distract himself. Stiles told this to Derek as the wolf relaxed on the padded blanket in his corner of the basement.

Derek was wary of falling asleep again, however and eventually stretched and moved around the basement, looking at all the various and sundry things Stiles had managed to secret away in a corner Stiles called his ‘pantry’. A set of shelves underneath the stairs were chock-full of all sorts of glass jars containing all sorts of ingredients, some more disgusting than others. Labels on each jar in Stiles’ hand made the identifying easier, but Derek was mystified at the sheer amount of items in each jar. They all seemed very full.

He was sniffing at a container of sage when Stiles shooed him away.

“Careful,” Stiles warned. “I don’t want you to break anything.”

Derek huffed at him, insulted. He wasn’t some loping dog, after all.

“I decided to try an easier one tonight,” said Stiles. “Something that will have less… explosive properties.” Derek wagged his tail at that.

“Yeah,” said Stiles. “I thought you might be happy about that. Sorry I scared you so much last time. Had to be confusing for you.” He knelt in front of Derek and ruffled at the fur around his head. “I promise, the next one I try will not be like that.”

Derek placed his paw on Stiles’ chest and waited for him to understand. Stiles gave him a half smile and put his hand over the paw.

“You are so freakin’ cool,” he murmured. Quickly, he stood and kissed the top of Derek’s head affectionately. “Alright, let’s see what Deaton’s book has for us tonight.”

Derek watched him with wonder as he leaned heavily on the worktable in the center of the basement and flipped the pages of the tome. Derek wasn’t expecting to like Stiles so much, but that small moment of affection was a complete surprise. Suddenly, Derek was no longer content to rest in the corner watching Stiles from afar. He wanted to help him.

Derek came up behind Stiles and lifted his front paws up onto the table to look over the boy’s shoulder. Stiles moved aside out of astonishment, but ultimately put an arm around Derek’s shoulders, idly scratching at the base of Derek’s neck, and went on searching for a simple spell to practice with.

Stiles turned the next page and exclaimed: “Holy shit! Holy shit!” He read excitedly for a few minutes, reading the rest of the spell intently.

Derek leaned in to see what the spell was for and was shocked to see that it was a locater spell. He turned what he hoped was a quizzical wolf face toward Stiles and waited.

Stiles gave him a glance before going back to his reading. As he read on, he said: “So this spell will help me locate the guy who rescued me. That Peter guy. You remember him, huh boy?” Stiles gave Derek a smile before reading on. Suddenly, he frowned. “Oh great,” he moaned. “Just great.”

Derek whined at him.

“It says here,” Stiles explained as though Derek actually spoke words to him, “that in order to do the locater spell, I have to first ward off evil spirits who may try to interfere. Or worse yet, actually show up to the party. Apparently, this particular spell acts as a beacon to bad mojo. Fantastic.”

He shrugged. “Oh well. I hope there’s a “warding off evil spirits” section in this thing.”

He continued on through the book and, soon enough, he found what he needed. He read the ingredients and he had them all. He even had the graveyard dirt and the storm water. He was thankful to learn that there was no incantation either. Those always seemed to trip him up. He set about to create five vials.

He had to use a lock of his hair for the spell and grimaced before he decided his hair could be shorter at the sides just a bit. Derek watched all of this as he paced the room and for every vial created he was simultaneously more and more impressed as well as dreading being discovered.

He tried to convince himself that it wouldn’t be such a big deal if he transformed now and saved Stiles all the trouble. But he had openly lied to the kid for more than a month now and had slept in his room, stolen from his fridge… and seen him naked and dancing to All Time Low songs. It would humiliate him - both of them.

“Now don’t get nervous,” said Stiles, looking at him pointedly, “but I have to light a candle now.”

Derek sat and waited, watching him carefully.

Stiles took a black candle from the pantry and lit it carefully the old fashioned way, allowing the melted wax to drip over the tops and down the sides of each of the vials. Carefully, he blew out the candle. He turned to Derek and gave him a wink. “See? No sweat.”

As soon as the wax was set, he grabbed the vials and a trowel and headed upstairs. Derek followed.

“Now the book says that you should bury one of these under the house you want to protect, but we don’t have a dirt basement so we get to bury this under the porch outside near the front door. The others go at all four points of the compass.” He turned to Derek suddenly, causing the werewolf to pull up short. “I don’t want you to dig these up, do you hear?”

Derek grunted indignantly.

“Yeah, I know,” said Stiles, “but I feel better saying it to you out loud. Don’t dig these up because if you do, the spell gets broken and even though I’m using it to ward off bad stuff for this one spell, I think having the protection around is a good thing overall. Don’t you?”

Derek sat and then lay down, his face on his front paws.

“I’ll take that as an ‘okay’,” said Stiles and he set about his work.

They settled back in the basement afterward and Stiles breathed a sigh of relief. “I don’t know about you, but I feel it working already.” Derek cocked his head. He didn’t feel a thing. “Yeah,” admitted Stiles, “or maybe I’m just crazy.” Stiles shrugged and continued: “Oh well. Let’s get started on that locater spell.”

Derek was headed back to his padded blanket in the corner to await his fate. As soon as the person searched for was revealed to be his own familiar, Derek knew his time with Stiles would be lost forever. Certainly the trust he had earned from him would be gone. He lowered himself to the padded surface and sighed.

A sound caught Derek’s ears. It was the sound of a car approaching. He gave Stiles a warning bark.

Stiles looked up from his book. “What?” Derek barked again. Stiles shook his head, eyes wide, expectant, clueless. “What? What is it, boy? Timmy stuck in the well?”

Derek growled, irritated and moved to Stiles swiftly, taking him by the cuff of his shirt and pulling him toward the stairs.

“What the hell, Derek?!” he said.

Derek whined.

The front door opened and Stiles heard his father call: “Stiles! I’m home!”

“Shit!” Stiles whispered. “Oh shit!” He pulled himself free of Derek’s hold and raced back for the book, stowing it in the pantry and covering it up with the plywood that served as a screen. The remnants of his earlier spell was still strewn about the tabletop and he moaned. Derek ran to the corner and pulled at the padded blanket he had been using. He brought it to Stiles and dropped its edge at his feet.

Meanwhile, upstairs he could hear his father moving around the house. The man hadn’t called out again, but Stiles knew the odds of him searching the whole house for his son were fifty-fifty. Hopefully, his father would assume he had already gone to bed and not bother.

Stiles looked at the padded blanket oddly. Derek took up the corner of it up in his mouth again and pulled himself and it to the tabletop.

Finally, it clicked for Stiles: “Oh! Cover the table with the- right!” He spread the blanket out hurriedly and listened for his father at the foot of the stair. He knelt beside Derek and whispered: “Do you hear him?”

Derek nodded.

Stiles blinked at the wolf.

“Did you just nod ‘yes’ at me?”

Derek supposed he did. He nodded again.

“So you can actually answer yes or no questions?” asked Stiles. His eyes held awe and immense curiosity.

Derek nodded again.

“Can you shake your head for no?”

Derek nodded. Stiles made a face.

“I mean it,” said Stiles. “Shake your head for no right now.”

Derek complied.

“Whoa.”

It was another few seconds before Stiles remembered his father. “Can you hear him?”

Derek nodded.

“And is he just upstairs?”

Derek shook his head no.

“Up in his bedroom?”

Derek nodded.

“Good,” said Stiles, confident in the knowledge that they would be able to sneak back to his room without being spotted or suspected of anything weird. The covering of the table would have to do until he could clean things thoroughly the next morning. With his father working a double, it was guaranteed the lawman would sleep deeply - and late.

Later that night, Stiles laid in bed and watched Derek as he sat on his dog bed. Derek watched him back.

“What the hell are you?” he whispered before closing his eyes and letting sleep take him.

As Stiles’ heartbeat and breathing regulated, Derek shifted and whispered back: “I wish I could tell you.”


	4. Chapter 4

The mess on the table was still there in the wee hours of the morning. Stiles and Derek rose before first light and cleaned it all up so that his father was never given a reason to suspect his son had been going against his wishes. Stiles was even careful to scrape up the wax he had dripped in his haste for sealing the vials. By the time he had finished cleaning, the only thing that was different was a slight smell of bleach cleanser spray.

The whole while Stiles picked up and cleaned, Derek watched the stairs. They were both hoping to clean up and get back upstairs before the sheriff awoke that morning. Stiles knew that if his dad worked late the night before, he wouldn’t go in until the afternoon, but he had come home earlier than expected last night so Stiles had to work quickly and rely on Derek’s good hearing to let him know whether or not his dad was up and awake. He looked to the wolf time and again and Derek looked to him, but gave him no sign.

Derek knew that with every glance Stiles gave him, he was mulling over Derek’s ability to answer simple direct questions. Derek hoped against hope that Stiles wouldn’t think about the blanket he had given him to cover the table in the first place. The logic process and problem-solving analytical thinking required with that would be a step further than being able to answer yes or no questions, impossible as that seemed to be as it was. Stiles’ discovery of him and his gifts as a familiar needed to be slow; only one strange discovery at a time, if you please.

Finally finished, they made their way upstairs carefully. The morning was cold and the sheriff’s habit was to turn the heat down at night and not raise it until the evening when Stiles came home from his college classes. Whomever was the last to go to bed was the one to turn the heat down again. So by the time Stiles got back to his room from the tundra-like basement, quietly closing the door behind them both, he was frozen to the bone. He raced to the bed and pulled the sheets over him in a paroxysm of chills.

Derek was never cold. His werewolf nature kept him that way. He padded softly to his bed, collapsing into its comfort, and planned on getting at least four more hours sleep if not more.

Stiles shivered again.

Derek raised his head and gave a questioning whimper.

“I’m a-alright, D-Derek,” said Stiles softly. “I’ll w-w-warm up in a s-second.”

Derek huffed and got up. He placed his paws on the mattress. Stiles looked so small. He was curled in the fetal position and facing him. Derek could only see the top of his head to the tip of his nose; the comforter and sheets covered the rest of him. Still, Derek knew it wasn’t enough. He circled the bed and hopped up in it. He had never done this before. He had never thought it necessary. But here was this kid, this stupid, skinny, defenseless, embryo-witch, who stumbled over his Latin incantations and blew up half the house, shivering in the darkness of early morning. He had to do something.

Carefully, Derek curled up at Stiles’ back, his werewolf heat permeating the covers in seconds.

Stiles turned around. “You are seriously warm, Der,” he said, reaching out a hand to stroke at the fur on his front leg. Derek’s tail thumped rhythmically on the bed. “Thanks, boy,” said Stiles sleepily. He yawned, curled into Derek’s heat, and fell asleep.

 

~080~

 

The hours ticked by. Stiles didn’t have any classes that day and he could afford to be a bit lazy. Vaguely, he heard his dad tell him he was leaving for work, but he had no idea what time that was. Derek was still cuddled at his side, but he peeked enough to notice the clock on Stiles’ desk. The digital display said 9:42am. Sleep took them both again in seconds.

Stiles was a deep sleeper. Derek had never known him to wake gently either. It usually took Derek practically standing on him in the mornings in order for the boy to get up in time for his classes. And he was a spider monkey in bed. Even now, Derek found himself vaguely annoyed by the knee in his back.

He huffed a breath and turned himself to face Stiles. As per usual, Stiles was sound asleep with his mouth hanging open. Derek supposed he should be grateful that he didn’t snore. He sighed. If he knew Stiles, he wouldn’t budge until either his bladder or his stomach called him and that could take hours.

Speaking of which… Derek had to go.

He didn’t want to wake Stiles, and he couldn’t shift back to human form right on his bed; it was too risky. He got up as gently as he could and padded to the bathroom. He shifted there, shutting the door carefully. There was no sound. He exhaled a lungful of air he didn’t realize he was holding and relieved himself at the toilet. He never got a chance to wash his hands.

Stiles stumbled through the door just as Derek was stepping to the sink. Fortunately, Derek reacted quickly and hid himself behind the door just as Stiles went past him. The toilet was still flushing but Stiles didn’t seem aware; he simply relieved himself in the spinning water and pressed the handle uselessly when he was done as though the toilet were sitting unattended the whole time.

Stiles moved automatically to the sink as Derek watched, a feeling of horror spreading across his face as he saw his own reflection behind Stiles’ as the boy stood at the sink. All Stiles had to do was to look up. One glance and he was busted. Derek held his breath.

Stiles tilted his head up, eyes mostly closed. For a split second the two men locked eyes, but Stiles didn’t register the moment. He absently dried his hands on the towel and left the bathroom the way he’d come.  
Derek stood there in shock. Stiles saw him. He knew it. But he didn’t say anything. Even if he didn’t immediately recognize Derek’s face, he hadn’t snapped awake at the sight of a naked man in his bathroom. 

Could Stiles be that heavy a sleeper?

There was a quick footfall outside the door. Derek shifted quickly and stood in the middle of the room facing the door.

Stiles stopped in the doorway and stared down at Derek.

“What the-?” he said. He pushed in and grabbed the door, turning and swinging it closed to expose Derek’s former hiding place. Stiles turned to Derek again.

“Where did he-?” he said. He blinked at the wolf. The wolf cocked his head at him.

Stiles leaned over, his hands on his knees, and put his face within inches of Derek’s snout. He blinked twice more and asked very slowly: “Did you see what I saw?”

Slowly Derek shook his head no.

Stiles closed his eyes and hung his head. “I’m going insane. Clearly.” He straightened, bringing the heels of his palms to his eyes, and sighed. “I am loooooosing my mind. Fan-fucking-tastic.” He turned on his heel and went back to bed.

Derek sat there, waiting for his heart to stop racing, and wondered for the millionth time why he couldn’t just tell Stiles who he really was. But at this point, so much time had passed… Derek was ashamed. If his uncle Peter were there, he’d be laughing his ass off. With a huff and a whine, Derek went back to bed, this time to his own dog bed on the floor, curled up, and settled in for a bad sleep.

 

~080~

 

Twenty minutes later Derek awoke to the sound of feet on the floor. He opened one eye to see Stiles pad across the room, eyes at half-mast, open his door and exit the room. After a few seconds, he heard him descend the stairs. Derek quickly rose and followed. He could hear Stiles talking, but he wasn’t sure what he was saying. 

Stiles moved throughout the house, living room, kitchen, dining room. He seemed to be wandering aimlessly. Finally, Derek barked in an effort to rouse him. All that resulted was Stiles turning to him and practically yelling: “I have to find him! Help me!”

Stiles fell to his knees and crawled under the kitchen table. He lay down on his side and fell into a deep sleep. He shivered involuntarily and mumbled: “…gotta keep looking… Peter…”

Derek couldn’t stand it any more. He shifted to his human form and pulled Stiles gently from underneath the table.

“You fucking dork,” Derek muttered as he cradled Stiles in his arms and took him back to bed. “You’re going to get yourself killed looking for me.” He gave his dog bed a glance as he walked past. “You’re looking everywhere for me - even in your sleep - and I’m right here.”

It had begun to rain. Derek always loved the sound of it and as he tucked Stiles back in he watched it fall on the window panes as he sat on the edge of the bed. “What the fuck am I going to do?” he mumbled to himself. He took in the profile of this boy who was supposed to be so perfect for him. Skinny. Defenseless. Well… almost defenseless. But still weaker than Derek. And a lot more naive. He suddenly felt the need to protect him, to stay a wolf forever if necessary. 

The rain continued to fall and Stiles was fast asleep on his side. Derek cuddled up behind him, wrapped his arm around Stiles and buried his nose in his neck. “I’m sorry this started out as a lie, Stiles. I’m sorry for so much. I just hope I’m brave enough to tell you everything before you blow yourself up trying to find me.” He nuzzled his nose into Stiles’ hair. “I just hope you’re not too angry when that day comes. I hope you can forgive me. I hope you’ll still want me around.” He kissed his hairline softly.

Stiles brought his head back a bit on the pillow and Derek lifted up a little to let him get settled before putting his lips to Stiles’ cheek and shifting back to his wolf form. He lay next to Stiles listening to the rain mingled with his witch’s heartbeat and breathing wondering if things would ever be this peaceful again.


	5. Chapter 5

Running in wolf form was always fun for Derek. His earliest memories as a fully-formed wolf were of running full-tilt through the wood that surrounded his family’s home. The wind in his muzzle, tongue hanging, paws digging in the soft earth, nothing else was like it. It was freedom.

Today it wasn’t about freedom. It was about survival.

“Keep going! I think we can lose it by the river!” screamed Stiles. The boy was behind him and careening past trees as fast as his gangly limbs would carry him and flipping through his book of spells like a madman searching for more information on the wraith that was chasing them. The backpack that held all his spell ingredients was bouncing on his back, the glasses of the jars clinking together dangerously. Derek didn’t know what would happen if they cracked and the contents combined, but he was terrified to find out.

The talisman they had used was stuffed hurriedly in a side pocket, the ribbon it was tied to was dangling out of it and trailing behind Stiles as he ran. Derek had a sneaking suspicion that the wraith Stiles had managed to conjure forth was chasing the talisman, and was therefore chasing Stiles. Well, Derek thought, this was more excitement than he had seen in a while.

Three weeks ago, Stiles had spent three hours of incantation for the locater spell. Unfortunately, he had discovered the hard way that there was no way to locate someone who’s full name you didn’t know. He had sat dejected and forlorn in the corner of the basement on Derek’s padded rug. He had looked awful. Derek had laid down next to him to offer a bit of comfort, even though he had personally been relieved.

“All I want to know is where he is so I can thank him,” Stiles had said quietly. He had absently stroked Derek’s fur and sighed.

If Derek had been tempted in the last month to shift and confess everything, the urge had never been so strong as it had been in that moment. But he hadn’t shifted. Instead he had put his head in Stiles’ lap, one paw over the boy’s knees, and whined sympathetically.

Stiles had been in a funk for the next few weeks. He hadn’t wanted to go anywhere near his spells; he had been too disappointed in the magic and in himself. Finally, it had all come to a head one day when Stiles’ criminology book had gotten flung across the room and practically embedded in the wall. Fortunately, Stiles’ father hadn’t been home and there was no real damage done that a Simple Plan poster hadn’t been able to cover up, but Stiles’ misery had clearly turned to anger. Derek had known what he had to do. He had dropped Deaton’s spell book at Stiles’ feet and looked at him expectantly.

Stiles had raised his eyes to his familiar and scratched his head. “Okay,” he had sighed, “we’ll try again.” He had picked up the book and had looked hard at Derek. “And we’re not going to look for Peter.” Derek had huffed in agreement.

Stiles set his jaw. “We’re going to try for something big.”

That ‘something big’ had gone horribly horribly wrong.

They reached the river in time to find that the currents had affected where they had docked their little boat. In Stiles’ search for privacy, they had appropriated a small dinghy from a total stranger with every intention of returning it. Unfortunately, Stiles had not calculated the current or the water level when they docked. Their boat was now mired further down the bank and in the roots of the trees that overgrew the banks.

“Aw crap!” cried Stiles. “What the hell?” He re-shouldered his pack and began to climb around the trunks and the roots to get at the boat, the talisman ribbon waving behind him.

Derek leapt for the ribbon, grabbed it in his teeth and ran in the other direction. Stiles caught sight of him at the last minute.

“Derek! What are you doing?!” shouted Stiles. “It’ll kill you!”

Derek barked. It was all he could do. The talisman glinted in the moonlight.

“The talisman! This isn’t a game, dude! What are you thinking?” called Stiles as he maneuvered awkwardly, turning around to come back to the riverbank. “That thing is chasing its power! We need to get away-” Stiles stopped mid-sentence and blinked at Derek. “You’re saving me,” he whispered.

Derek nodded solemnly, turned, and ran.

An eerie hollow call went up from the depths of the forest and a black form flitted after Derek.

Stiles was struck with panic. “NO!” he screamed and shouldered the backpack, running after Derek. “You are NOT hurting him!”

 

~080~

 

Derek ran hard and far and the wraith followed. He shifted and threw the talisman far into the wood in one direction and ran in the other. The wraith chased the bronze pendant’s gleam into the wood for only a moment before turning and pursuing Derek once again. It reached him and tore at his skin, cackling with glee.

“What do you want?!” demanded Derek.

It swam around him, nipping at him here and there, until it passed through him, taking the breath from his body. It stopped his heart for an instant and Derek knew what it was after. “You want my life? You want my breath?”

“Your POWER!” shrieked the thing as it made another pass that caused Derek’s heart to skip another beat.

His knees buckled and he remembered something his uncle Peter and mother used to say: “Your wolf form is your true form. You have more power there. Use it when you can.”

He shifted.

The wraith was merciless. It rent and tore and ripped and clawed at his soul, his essence. The more it did so, the stronger it became, the more vicious the next round of torture was. By the time Stiles discovered him, Derek couldn’t hold his shift any longer. He panted his last as a wolf and collapsed to the forest floor as a human. Stiles’ eyes flew wide.

“Derek? Peter?” he whispered. But there was no time. The wraith was almost done feasting on Derek, but its hunger wasn’t sated - it wanted more - and Stiles was now the strongest animal in the forest. It turned toward him and in his panic, Stiles threw the whole backpack at the creature. It struck the trunk of a strong elm and the jars shattered, allowing the contents to mix together in a volatile reaction that Stiles recognized as a preliminary explosion. He dove toward Derek’s prone body, covering him with his own.

There was no sound. It simply detonated, imploding inward, taking the backpack, the wraith, the elm and all of its root systems with it.

Stiles kept his eyes clenched shut for a long time afterward before peeking around for the results of the chaos. The only thing he saw was a circle of moonlight shining down on a rather large crater where the tree had been. He rose slowly, searching the wood for any sign of the wraith. It was gone completely.

Stiles turned back to the man on the ground. He stood over him and stared. He was breathing but unconscious. “You son of a bitch,” he murmured. He sat on a tree root and waited for Derek, Peter, or whatever his name was, to wake up.


	6. Chapter 6

After twenty minutes of waiting for Derek to come to, Stiles reached the end of his anger and the beginning of his mercy. He took off his jacket and draped it over Derek’s naked body.

“This does not mean I forgive you,” he muttered. Derek made no response.

After another thirty minutes, he began to worry. He approached Derek slowly, not wanting to startle him, and shook him by the shoulder. “Hey,” he said. Then louder: “Hey!” He patted his cheek. “Hey, Derek! Peter! Whatever your name is… wake up!”

Derek inhaled sharply and his eyes fluttered open. In a split second, his hand shot out and he grabbed Stiles’ wrist.

The boy crumbled. “OW!”

“Stop slapping me,” Derek managed with a rough voice. He rolled over carefully and then realized how he looked. Quickly, he covered himself with Stiles’ jacket and looked up sheepishly. “I can explain.”  
Stiles rubbed his wrist and took a few steps back. “You’d better be able to. I mean…you’re not a wolf. Are you?”

“Werewolf,” said Derek, rising slowly to his feet and holding the jacket over his genitals.

“Great. I thought as… much,” said Stiles. He was angry. But not too angry to appreciate the beautiful man before him. In the moonlight, Derek was stunning. Filthy, bruised, cut in places, a bit swollen in others, but all of it didn’t matter; he was a magnificent specimen. It took Stiles a few seconds before he snapped back to reality and remembered his anger. “So what’s your name anyway? Your real name!?” he asked him.

“Derek,” he said, “My name’s Derek Hale.”

“Who’s Peter?”

"Uh... that's my uncle's name," admitted Derek. “It was the first one I could think of that wasn’t mine.”

“Why did you lie to me?”

“I was told that I had to,” said Derek. “Deaton said it was the only way-”

“Deaton?” asked Stiles. “Deaton knew? Of course Deaton knew. Son of a b-”

“Hey,” said Derek. “Don’t get mad at him. I thought it was a stupid idea. I just went along with it because…” Derek couldn’t fathom why he had gone along with it. Was it his level of desperation at the time? His loneliness? He didn’t know. Whatever the reasons, they didn’t exist anymore, not after all they had been through.

“Well?” asked Stiles, crossing his arms. “Why did you go along with it?”

“I-it-it started because my sister wanted me to get a boyfr-” Derek stopped himself and blushed before continuing: “And then she contacted Deaton and he introduced us,” began Derek, “and then time went by. And your dad thought I was a dog. And so did you. And you regarded me as a family pet and your familiar and… you needed me like that and it was… nice. So I just… let it go. And I was going to tell you, Stiles. I swear.”

“Deaton… was setting us up… as boyfriends?”

Derek cringed.

“This was all a fucking joke to you two?” exclaimed Stiles. “My teaching myself the craft was all a fucking JOKE?!”

“No, Stiles, we-”

“We what? We thought up this humorous little plot and killed yourselves laughing at the stupid, clueless, newbie witch with no guidance or encouragement or anything from anyone - not even his own family - because the one person who could have taught him anything is dead? Because she is, you know. Since I was eight. DEAD. Dead and gone and no witch stepped up to say anything to me. And then Deaton sends me you and for the first time, Derek, I thought hey! There’s someone who believes in me! There’s someone out there who doesn’t care that I’m not attached to a coven. There’s someone that loaned me spell books and gave me hope!

“And you! You sat there in the corner falling asleep and I thought you were just an ordinary pet until you started helping me. Even when I figured out that you could answer yes or no questions, I didn’t see it. I’m so fucking stupid! How would a dog - a wolf - a whatever! How would a stupid animal be able to answer questions? I thought it was a witch-familiar thing! But it wasn’t, was it? It was just another way for you to laugh like hell at the child-witch, the stupid idiot who took you in.

“Does your pack know about me too? Do they die laughing when you call them when I’m asleep? Do you tell all the supernatural world in and around Beacon Hills that I’m a useless, crappy witch who flounders with his spells and doesn’t know how to spot a fucking _werewolf_ that’s living right under his nose? Do you? DO YOU?!” Stiles was crying and angry and red in the face. If he were capable of wielding any measure of black magic, he would have been downright dangerous at that moment.

Derek just blinked at him in shock. “Stiles…” was all he managed.

“What?!”

“I’m… so sorry.”

Stiles stood there staring at him through his tears. Finally disgusted he said: “Go to hell.”

Derek stared at Stiles helplessly as he ran off, his words a palpable wound in his heart.

 

~080~

 

He was weak. Granted, the demon had taken his ability to shift back to wolf form, but that was only temporary and not the crux of his problem. No. Derek was weak without Stiles. The moment he lost sight and sound of him, he felt instantly empty. He sat in the wood on the jacket Stiles had given him and waited for Stiles to come back. He knew he wouldn’t. But he also knew the size of Stiles’ heart. He couldn’t leave him all the way out here, naked and alone, could he?

After an hour, Derek conceded that Stiles would never have done that to his familiar, but he would do it to a deceiving werewolf. He had nowhere to go except Deaton’s.

Deaton looked very surprised to see Derek in the state he was in and ushered him through to the back room. After disappearing for a few minutes, he re-appeared with some hospital scrubs he kept for surgeries. Derek donned them without a word. Deaton studied his mood but asked no questions; it was obvious that Derek’s reveal had not been a welcome one.

Before he left, Derek handed Deaton Stiles’ jacket but the vet refused saying: “You keep it. Think of how you can make it up to him. Now that he’s seen you, he’ll have time to mull it over. And you’ll have time to think of what to say or do to get him to come around. This is still a strong match, Derek. I know you felt it.”

“And I think we’re done here, Deaton,” said Derek, “but thanks.” He walked all the way home, alone and numb.


	7. Chapter 7

“You’re worse than you were, Derek,” said Laura. She had poked her head into his room for the five-millionth time and he was getting irritated. “I mean,” she continued, “you have raised sulking to Olympic levels.” She moved to his bedside where he sat propped up by his pillows. “I know he meant a lot to you-”

“You know nothing,” he growled. But he was lying. His gifts were still not all the way back and it had been three days and he was miserable because of his loss of gift but also because he hated hated HATED that his sister was completely right. Stiles had meant a lot to him and now he was choking on his own loneliness. His sister’s presence was only serving to suffocate him more. “Get out, will you?”

“Deaton came by,” said Laura. “Did you not hear him?”

“I’m not a wolf anymore, remember?” said Derek. “Did he come by with a cure?”

Laura closed her eyes and sighed. “Yes, you are, Derek. And no, he’s still stumped as to why you can’t transform.” She raised an eyebrow when her brother managed to sulk even more. “But I have a theory.”

“Oh?”

“A theory I shared with Deaton.” She came around to the foot of the bed and put her hand on his ankle tenderly. “I think you miss him too much,” she said.

“Laura!” He pulled his foot away.

“No no no! Hear me out!” she said. “Deaton said that humans - even superhumans - are susceptible to psychosomatic pitfalls. You can’t become the wolf because it was part of the big lie you told Stiles, the lie that hurt him. You need to forgive yourself and then get Stiles back.”

“What the hell are you talking about?”

“Here,” she said and she tossed a book at him. “Read up. Then go make a damn effort.”

He looked at the book’s spine as she walked off. It read: “The Black Candle: A Grimoire”

 

~080~

 

When he wasn’t in class, he had started cleaning. His father appreciated the extra effort around the house, but it was bordering on pathological. “Stiles! Where the hell is the cereal?” John shouted.

Stiles bolted into the room with as much grace as a Labrador puppy. “I organized it.”

“What do you mean, you ‘organized it’?” he said as he watched his son open the pantry door where the cereal has never been a day in his life. Stiles pulled out a plastic container with a label on it that said DAD’S CEREAL.

The Sheriff raised his eyebrows, incredulous. “Cereal comes in a box. A really handy box. It does not need to be put in a labeled container, color coded or organized or anything. It’s CEREAL!”

“I know, dad,” said Stiles, “but what if we have rats? I mean, those suckers can chew through cardboard in a heartbeat.”

John sighed and poured his cereal from the plastic container he would be using until it was empty and then he could go back to having his cereal out of boxes like the good Lord intended. “Stiles,” said John, “I never thought I would say this, but I think you need a new dog.”

Stiles paused half way across the dining room. “He wasn’t just any dog, dad.”

“What the hell are you talking about?”

Stiles didn’t want to tell his father. It was bad enough that he knew that the supernatural world existed, but to have him know that a werewolf was living under his roof for a solid two months? He didn’t want to cause his father to have an aneurysm.

“Stiles?”

“Dad…”

“What? Was Derek a werewolf or something?”

Stiles froze. His father wore his ‘I’m being sarcastic here’ face on, but he was far too close to the truth for Stiles’ comfort.

John put down his bowl slowly. “Stiles,” said John, his voice taking on that controlled tone he only reserved for when Stiles was in very VERY hot water, “Stiles. Please tell me that there wasn’t a werewolf in my house. That for two months, a seriously dangerous monster was not in my home sleeping right next to my only child. Please tell me that your silence means shock and not guilt because if you are guilty, Stiles Stilinski, you are not only forbidden from participating in all things witchcraft, you will be taking all of your classes - ALL OF THEM - online and staying here under house arrest complete with ankle tracker!”  
“In my defense, I had no idea,” said Stiles.

“You- you- you had-” sputtered John. His face was red and Stiles could see the vein in his forehead becoming more prominent by the second.

“As soon as I found out I left him,” said Stiles.

“You left him?” asked John. Stiles nodded. “You left him where?” asked his father carefully.

“I left him in the woods where we were,” said Stiles.

“And why were you in the woods?”

“Dad…”

“Stiles, I swear by all that is holy-”

“Ok ok, dad,” said Stiles, his hands out in a pleading gesture. “Please don’t have a stroke or anything.” He took a deep breath. “I was performing magic. It was a spell that got out of hand. Derek saved my life. If he hadn’t been a werewolf, if he’d have been a normal familiar-”

“A what?”

“It’s a witch thing, dad, just listen,” said Stiles. “If he had been a regular animal, he wouldn’t have lived through it. But because he’s a supernatural creature, he did. He’s brave and amazing and he saved my life. And I’ll always be grateful to him. Just- please let’s not talk about him anymore, okay?”

John let the subject drop and Stiles went upstairs to his room.

Sheriff Stilinski wasn’t a man who dealt with emotion very well. He could control his own under fire, but the things that required him to deal with other people’s emotions - informing the family of the death of a loved one, for example - they weren’t easy. Ever since Claudia died, he did his level best to be both mother and father to his son, but he had always felt like he was coming up short. Now with Stiles so down, he was worried he would again not be enough for his son to lean on. He raised his eyes to the ceiling and spoke to his dead wife: “Honey, I could really use some help here.”

As he ascended the stairs to talk to Stiles, he had half hoped that she would have responded in some way. But he knew what he had to do. He knocked at the door and entered his son’s room slowly.

“Stiles?”

Stiles sat on the edge of his bed dejected, staring off into nothing.

John sat beside him and sighed. Eventually, he risked placing an arm about the boy’s shoulders. Stiles didn’t object.

“When your mother died, I had no idea what to do,” he said. “All I knew was: you were the only family I had left and I had to protect you at all costs. This was the only way I knew how. Keeping you away from magic wasn’t meant to be a punishment; it was meant to be a prevention against something I couldn’t ward off if things got out of hand. But I’m not a supernatural creature. If I had been there in the woods that day, I would have died. You would have died. Right?”

Stiles nodded. He never met his father’s eyes.

“So Derek… Maybe Derek is a good thing. Maybe he’s the one person I need to do what I promised your mother I would do: protect you. So… I know you left him and I don’t know why, but whatever happened, son - get him back.” Stiles looked at his father, blinking his confusion. John shrugged and continued: “I’ll pay him. I’ll do whatever it takes to make you safe doing what you’re going to do with or without my permission.”

“Dad, I-” started Stiles, “I don’t know that I can get him back. It was a pretty big shock to me when I found out. And I felt- I felt really stupid for not seeing it.” Tears welled in Stiles’ eyes. “All of a sudden, the fact that I was an idiot was rubbed in my face. And I- Dad, I cared for him! I cared about him. I bathed him and fed him and - Jesus Christ! - I picked up his shit! Like - _literally_!

“I did all those things… and I told him things. Told him about magic and mom. About you and about our life after she died. And he was a part of that life! He was a part of this family. And I never ever figured it out! Dad! I’m made of goddamned magic and I never knew! It’s just humiliating!

“I was so hurt, I screamed at him and ran away. I don’t think he’ll ever come back, considering what I said. Personally, I should think he’d be happier without me.”

“Now that I don’t believe,” said his father. “Stiles, werewolf or no, you’re right: he was a part of this family. Hell, even I picked up his shit every once in a while!” The shared a short laugh at that.

“So here’s what I’m thinking,” said John. Stiles looked at his father hopefully. “I’m thinking that we both should go after him, wherever he is. I think that we should go look for our lost family member. What do you say?”

Stiles wiped his face with the back of one hand. “Yeah. Yeah, Dad. I think that’d be great.”


	8. Chapter 8

They were delicate ribbons and it took Derek three hours to get them to interlace the way he wanted them to. When he was done, he secured the edges with a little tailor’s tack glue so that they wouldn’t unravel at their ends or from one another. He then drew a symbol, small, discrete on the bottom of the orange one: )o( The symbol for the moon. On the other, he used a silver pen to mark on the blue ribbon two runes: _Perthro_ , which was for luck, but ironically looked like a letter ‘C’ that had gotten into a car accident, and _Ansuz_ , which resembled a slanted letter ‘F’. He wasn’t trying to be a smart ass with that last one. _Ansuz_ had to do with communication, but by extension, it also had effect on knowledge, wisdom, and truth. He knew how important the truth was to Stiles. He also knew how much he had betrayed his trust and ruined everything that existed between them by not telling him the truth.

The colors of the ribbon didn’t match at all. Orange and blue, they were garish in the light of his bedroom. He winced and rechecked the book. According to the grimoire that his sister had provided, orange was a good color for witches that worked with fire as well as a good color for energy-workers. Stiles had that gift in spades. The blue was the color of the goddess, which, Derek supposed was a nod to Stiles’ mother, in a way. But it was also the color of healers and potion brewers. He hoped Stiles would lean in that direction with his magic; learn to heal rather than destroy. 

His sister had also provided him with a wide band of light brown and he looked it up. 

‘The color of those who work with animals, especially those with psychic connections to animals and animal minds.’ 

Derek nodded. That works - sort of, he thought, remembering their connection as human and wolf and the weeks spent together as witch and familiar, and placed the braided ribbons atop the wider light brown one, tacking it in place. It was a hideous thing, but symbolic more than pretty and seriously meant. He wanted Stiles to like it. He wanted him to understand. He placed the finished ribbon in a box with a note explaining the symbolism of each element and placed the cover on top. He stared at the box for a long long time before slipping it in his desk drawer and walking away. 

“Even if I give it to him, he won’t look in the box,” he muttered to himself as he flopped back on his bed. “He’ll never forgive me. And I don’t blame him.” 

~080~ 

He awoke from the dream, sweat covering him and Stiles’ name on his lips. His breathing came fast and he was disoriented at first. It had been a desperate dream. He couldn’t find Stiles. He had gotten in over his head again and he couldn’t change to sniff him out and his nose wouldn’t work, but his hearing did but he still couldn’t center in on where he was and it was driving him crazy. The trees swept past him as he ran as fast as his human form would take him through the moonlit forest but it was all for nothing. Stiles’ voice was coming from everywhere and nowhere and he couldn’t fucking FIND HIM! His frustration caused his inner wolf to howl and that’s when he had woken, a fine sheen of sweat covering his body. 

“Stiles,” he said again to the darkness of his room. 

He padded downstairs and noticed how still the house was. His sisters and uncle were probably out on a hunt. It was something that the family did from time to time to set their inner wolves free. And hey, venison for a month! They would be gone for hours, he knew, so he felt little shame about calling out Stiles’ name in the middle of the night. Had they been home, there would have been a knock on his door and three interested faces in the doorway, smiling knowing hateful smiles. It would have been awful. 

He poured himself a glass of water from the tap and thought of the bracelet he had made the witch who was no longer in his life. He didn’t think Stiles would accept it, but he wanted to give it to him anyway. He had to. It was the last ditch effort of a desperate man, because, despite his initial reticence, he had grown fond of Stiles. He loved his expressive face, his moles, his light snore. He loved the way Stiles touched him, long fingers stroking through his fur, comforting, secure. He loved his laugh, even the out of control kind that made him snort. He loved how _smart_ he was; how a spell could require his entire focus and suck up hours of his time and he would get it right the second he tried to do it. It was only when he practiced a spell over and over and his focus waned that he lost control. Or if he bit off more than he could chew with the size of the spell. 

Derek thought of the grimoire upstairs. Stiles could do a lot with that. It was thick, almost a brick, and leather-bound, containing all of the spells his family had accrued over a lifetime. If Stiles forgave him, he would gladly share it with him; if he didn’t, he didn’t feel like his family would approve. After all, it had belonged to the Hale pack for time immemorial. But if Stiles even just got a glimpse of it, he would be overjoyed. He would do anything to make Stiles that happy. 

Before his conviction could fade, he finished his water, ran upstairs, dressed and headed out with the bracelet in its box, guiding his car between the trees along the road and back toward town. He reached the Stilinski house and noticed the dashboard clock. It was 3:45am. 

He took a spare pen from the glove compartment and printed neatly ‘For Stiles’ on the top of the box. As he made his way from the curb to the door, he listened and sniffed. He didn’t want Stiles or his father to come to the door and surprise him. Slowly he crept up the few stairs to the porch. One board creaked and he froze in place, his heart racing. After a moment of nothing happening, he finished the journey, placed his present on the doormat and crept back and away, noting the darkness of Stiles’ room and wishing for all he was worth to hear his snore again. 

It was twenty minutes before he returned to his room and began to regret his decision. He wanted Stiles to at least speak to him again. He wanted him to be able to meet his eyes. 

Derek thought of those amber eyes as he lay there in nothing but some loose sweatpants. He was a good looking guy. Stiles’ face was laughing now and Derek couldn’t help himself but smile too. He remembered the day Stiles first saw his human face. “Beautiful,” he had murmured. 

“You’re beautiful too, Stiles,” Derek whispered to the darkness. His cock lazily agreed. 

He hadn’t touched himself in ages but now, with the thought of Stiles clear in his mind, his brown-gold eyes lazy and half dreaming, he thought he could. He held his cock gently and traced his fingertips along its length, feeling it respond slowly, heat forming a gentle curl in his stomach and groin. He raised his knees and planted his feet, willing the image of Stiles warm and snuggling into his mind. 

He could feel the tip of his upturned nose cold on his neck, a pinpoint of touch that sent shivers through him. His warm breath was below it and Derek’s hips canted, his hand cupping his cock shallowly, gingerly. Derek licked his lips and thought of kissing Stiles, waking him with a gentle touch of his lips against his as he craned his face downward to take his mouth. Stiles responded almost immediately, his hands warm against Derek’s chest and arm. Soon the man was on all fours over him, kissing him thoroughly, moaning with the effort. Derek slid his hands along Stiles’ sides, slipping his hands around Stiles’ ass and up his back as easily as he slipped his tongue warm and wet against him. 

Stiles was rangy and his long limbs made the task of straddling Derek a tantalizing event. Stiles’ cock was heavy and its tip bobbed against Derek’s lower abdomen in his mind’s eye as Derek stroked himself, his prick becoming hard and heavy itself. Precum tipped it and he slicked his fingertips through it, wetting them and his shaft as they moved against his delicate skin. He gave his balls a small squeeze and imagined Stiles taking one of his nipples in his mouth, his teasing pink tongue causing it to pop erect, the tickle and heat of it causing Derek’s back to arch. He ran his free hand over the nipple, encouraging the reaction for real. The nubbin was already hard and he flicked against it with his fingers and canted his hips in a slow rhythm, tilting his hips up and down the way he would if Stiles were fucking him. 

He had never bottomed before, but he could totally see himself doing it for Stiles. He would do anything for him. All Derek wanted was the privilege of looking in his eyes as he came, of having his name on Stiles’ lips as he tipped over the edge into oblivion. His mind gave him the image: Stiles full inside him, back arched, head back as he thrust inside him. Derek couldn’t help himself, his knees were up and his stroke came fast as he circled his hole with the fingers of his free hand. He had no lube, but he didn’t think he needed to penetrate himself in order to come for Stiles like this. Besides, if he was going to be breached, he would let Stiles have the honors - if he decided to forgive him. 

Derek hoped Stiles’ forgiveness looked like he was picturing it now: deep, hard, slow thrusting, hitting his prostate with every other nudge, letting the tension build inside them both until Derek called out Stiles’ name and he looked down at him, seeming to see him for who he was for the first time ever. Stiles looked fascinated, lost to the moment. 

“Derek,” he whispered hoarsely. “So fucking beautiful.” 

“Stiles,” whispered Derek, his breath panting. 

He saw himself reach up and take Stiles behind the nape of the neck, drawing him in to suck a deep kiss onto his mouth. He heard and felt the vibration of Stiles moaning into the kiss, his hands coming up behind Derek’s knees to spread him wider and give him better purchase to sink himself just a bit deeper inside of him. Derek felt his toes curl as his balls tightened. He would come soon and, if he was any judge, hard.

“Give it to me, Stiles,” he whispered to the darkness as his free hand caressed his balls and asshole and his stroke tightened, hovering around his tip, urging the orgasm on and on and on until… 

“FUCK!” He knew he shouldn’t have shouted, but he couldn’t help it. He needed the release of this more than he knew and he could see Stiles, his Stiles, was smiling down on him as he came. 

“Good boy, Derek,” he murmured, just before his own orgasm took his breath away. Derek watched him, wondering if this was what he was really like. His breath slowed, the image faded, and he came back to himself alone in his bedroom in his house in the middle of the woods. 

His stomach was a mess and he wiped himself off with a tissue or six. Curling on his side, he imagined sleeping next to a knocked-out Stiles, sex-drunk and happy. 

“I need you, Stiles,” he whispered before exhaustion took him. “I need you back.” 


	9. Chapter 9

The bracelet was homemade and the note told him everything he needed to know about the meaning. Not that he didn’t already. The color significance was one of the first things Deaton’s spellbook had informed him. What he hadn’t expected was that Derek would bother to make him anything at all.

A part of him still hurt from the betrayal. But he also felt guilty for leaving Derek there, naked and alone, in the middle of the woods. It had to have been humiliating and, as much as he had wanted to hate him, he didn’t think he hated Derek that much. He looked at the ribbons in his hands and gave a half smile. “Not bad work for a werewolf,” he muttered and he tied it on his wrist.

“What’s that?” asked his father.

“Derek sent it. It’s a representation of power. Derek knows I have a thing for making things go boom, so that’s this color,” he pointed to the orange. “But the blue is a symbol of healing. I guess he’d like us to heal our relationship.”

“Oh,” said his father nodding, but clearly not actually understanding. “And the brown?”

“Well there’s brown and there’s light brown,” explained Stiles. “This is the light. So that’s for communication.” He looked at his father seriously. “I think Derek wants us to talk.”

“I think that’s a good idea,” said John. “I’m headed to work. Run by Deaton’s and see if he can get a message to Derek. I don’t want you going to Derek all alone.”

“Dad, he won’t hurt me,” said Stiles.

“Well what if he’s got friends? A family? A- a- whatadya call it? A pack?”

Stiles saw the logic of this and nodded. “Good plan, dad. I’ll hit Deaton’s first.”

“Smart boy,” said John and kissed Stiles affectionately on the head. “Stay safe.” He turned and left.

As soon as the door slammed behind him, Stiles grabbed his coat and headed out, hoping Deaton would have any advice considering the gift he had found on the doorstep that morning.

When he got there, the place was packed. It was strange to say, but in his association with Dr. Alan Deaton, Stiles had quite forgotten that the man was indeed a legitimate and licensed veterinarian. Six people with differed breed and species of animals were scattered about the waiting room. Stiles waved to a receptionist he had never seen before and she smiled at him. “Can I help you?”

“I’m here to see the doc,” he explained. She looked around him confused.

“And the patient name?” she asked.

Ah. That was something Stiles hadn’t thought of. “Um,” he hesitated. “It’s about my dog, Derek.”

“Where is he?”

“Um, he ran away,” said Stiles, cringing even as he said it.

“He ran away? That’s awful,” she replied. “But what can Dr. Deaton do about a lost dog?”

“I was hoping that he had been by?” It was meant to have been a statement, but as it came from his lips, he realized the ridiculousness of it and the ending inflection turned upward, coming off awkwardly as if Stiles were seeking her approval of the white lie.

She stared at him for a long moment before replying. “Lost animals don’t usually turn themselves in, sweetie.”

“You’re right. Yes. Of course. But I was wondering,” he said, his mind racing for purchase on the slippery slope he was climbing, “that if a human had come by with a lost dog and Dr. Deaton had noticed that it was mine and not that person’s.”

“Oh,” she said. “No I don’t think anyone has brought in a lost dog.”

“No, I mean - if my dog was lost and someone brought him in for a check up because he was trying to claim that my dog was his dog-”

“Stiles! What brings you by?” asked Deaton as he came out from the back.

“Ohthankgod,” sighed Stiles. “Can- can I talk to you for a second, doc?”

“Doctor,” the receptionist chimed in, “you do have patients waiting.”

“Yes, Marjorie, I can see that. I’m sure Mr. Stilinski will only be here for a moment.” Before she could argue or even utter another syllable, Deaton escorted Stiles in the back room. “What is it, Stiles? I have been to see Derek for you, but he won’t speak to me directly.”

“I know that doc, but I had to show you.” Here Stiles rucked up his sleeve and held out his arm. “Derek made it for me,” he explained. “At least - I hope he did. I found it on the doorstep this morning and I think he wants to talk. What can I do to speed things along? I can try the coin trick again, you know, to communicate with him, but a full moon’s not for another three weeks.”

Deaton could see that Stiles was hyperactive about this and placed a calming hand on one of his shoulders. “If this indeed came from Derek, then you won’t have to wait. Go to him. Talk to him. He obviously wants to patch things up with you.”

“My dad said that it might be dangerous if he has a pack,” Stiles said. “I don’t want to get my head bitten off before I have a chance to talk to him.”

Deaton smiled and shook his head. “He does have a pack. His family. But I wouldn’t be too concerned about them. Yes, you and Derek had a tiff, but it was an understandable one. They’re not animals, Stiles. Werewolves are people. They too want to be loved and understood and they want what’s best for their packmates and families. They won’t hurt you. I promise. Go to him. Call out his name nice and loud. Announce yourself. You’ll be fine. I’ll write out directions to the Hale family home. You’re doing the right thing.”

“I feel bad for abandoning him.”

“I know. But Derek’s a tough sort. And he really likes you. He’ll come back to you but only if the both of you want it. Talk to him - and more importantly - listen to him. He’s sullen and cranky but it’s all a cover for his big heart. Listen to him and he’ll melt like an ice cube.”

Stiles smiled and pocketed the directions Deaton scribbled down on the back of a prescription sheet. “Thanks, doc.”

“Take care of each other, Stiles. He may not be the regular kind of familiar, but he will share a bond with you closer than that - if you both allow it. Good luck.”


	10. Chapter 10

The Hale house was easy to locate once Deaton had outlined the turn-off from the preserve road he needed to take but the house itself was imposing, and it became even more so as Stiles realized that Derek was standing there in the front doorway as he pulled up. Stiles stood at the bottom of the stairs that led to the porch and just looked up at Derek. He was perfect and seemed nervous, but his body language took nothing away from the broad shoulders and the lean muscular chest. His eyes were a piercing verdigris and seemed to be staring into Stiles’ soul as he tentatively spoke.

“I got your gift,” Stiles began. “I thought I wouldn’t get to talk to you again, nevermind get gifts. I thought you’d be too upset with how I left things.”

“I was,” said Derek. “Actually, I didn’t think I’d see you again. Which is why I made it.”

Stiles felt himself exhale. Until that moment, he wasn’t entirely certain Derek had made the bracelet. He was glad his instincts were correct about him.

Derek hesitated for a moment before asking: “So, you like it?”

Stiles answered by hiking up his sleeve and showing him the colors against his skin. “I understand the colors too. The light brown for communication was a big tip-off that you wanted to talk.”

Derek blinked at that. That wasn’t exactly what he had meant by it, but he thought he’d let it ride. “So… does this mean you forgive me?”

“Not really,” said Stiles. The words came out a bit too matter-of-fact and he lowered his eyes, scrambling for words to properly convey his meaning. “I guess… I’m just willing to talk.”

Derek nodded and looked off into the woods. “So,” he said, descending the stairs and not taking his eyes off the tree line in the distance, “let’s go talk.” His hands were buried in the pockets of his leather jacket as he made his way past Stiles and into the woods. Stiles followed, admiring the curve of Derek’s form-fitting jeans.

“You know, I was really angry,” Stiles said. It was more of a question, however.

“Yeah,” said Derek, giving him a sheepish, furtive look. “I know. And I can only say I’m sorry so many times, Stiles. The whole thing was cooked up by Deaton and my sisters. My uncle knew about it too, but gave me a wide berth. He didn’t want Deaton matching him up with anyone. Now I see why. It was all so damn sloppy. We should have been straight with you. I see that now. But…”

“But you thought you needed to trick me because I needed a familiar?”

Derek stopped and looked at Stiles directly. “My family thought I needed someone. Someone I could spend time with, connect with. Romantically, I mean. They wanted me to find a boyfriend. I didn’t want to. I thought they were being stupid. But I see now that you helped mellow me out. You gave me someone to worry about, protect, learn from. I didn’t want to get to know you, but it was this or they would find some other way of humiliating me - dating websites, stuff like that. They would push and push until I snapped-” Here, Derek shook his head. “And they love me. They want what’s best for me, but they’re… bossy.”

“And you let Deaton play matchmaker?”

“He said we were perfect.”

Stiles blinked at this. “Perfect?”

Derek nodded and felt a blush creep up his neck. As he watched, Stiles’ eyes seemed to soften and for a moment, Derek’s breath caught. He swallowed past the momentary flicker of emotion and went on: “He thought we’d make a perfect pair. I don’t know. Maybe he was wrong? I mean, we started off with a lie. How can anything good come from that?”

Stiles nodded. “But if you’re not lying to me now?”

“I’m not,” said Derek.

“And there are no more secrets?”

“None that I know of,” said Derek.

“Then we should be good,” said Stiles, “shouldn’t we?” Derek’s heart leapt, but there was a trace of hardness behind Stiles’ eyes.

“I hope so,” said Derek and Stiles could see a small smile on his face, the werewolf’s aloof demeanor shedding its skin for him.

Stiles couldn’t stop himself. He walked to Derek and put his face inches from his own, noses practically touching. “You like me?”

Despite his standoffish nature, Derek answered honestly. It felt good. “Very much.”

Stiles smiled and looked at Derek’s face, the sweep of his hairline, the rugged jaw, the tender hopefulness in the eyes. “I think you’re the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen, you know,” he whispered.

Derek felt himself blush. Words escaped him.

“You knew that though,” said Stiles, his mouth creased into a frown. “You knew and you still didn’t step forward.”

Derek’s blush of embarrassment deepened into shame. “I’m sorry about that too, Stiles.”

“And it was you who saved me from the explosion,” said Stiles, his amber eyes flicking to Derek’s mouth. He licked his lips.

“I couldn’t stand by and do nothing,” he said. “And all the times you sleepwalked. I’d carry you back to bed. You never knew. Your dad has no idea either.”

“Dear God… my dad. What the hell are we going to tell him?”

“So… you’re saying I can come home with you?” Derek asked hopefully.

“If- if you want,” said Stiles. “I mean- I was pretty harsh on you back there and-”

Derek’s head dipped forward. The taste of Stiles Stilinski was like nothing else: warm and sweet, his mind swam as if drunk, his tongue tasted the heat of him. His hands came to rest on his hips and he could feel Stiles’ hands carding through his hair, tilting his head to taste deeper. It was slow, almost furtive at first, but soon was stoked into a flame that could not be quenched with just one touch of lips. They stood there in the wood, leaves falling all around, while the rest of the world faded away into the distance.

The slim line of Stiles’ body against his own was too good to be true. “You trust me?” asked Derek during a brief break away.

“Mmnh-huh,” moaned Stiles in the affirmative, his head swimming.

“Then come here,” said Derek and he sat Stiles down on a smooth rock that jutted out of one of the undulating hills in the deep wood. Kneeling before him, Derek undid Stiles’ belt and flies, pulling his cock free and smirking when Stiles moaned his approval. “I missed you, Stiles,” he said as he took him in his mouth.

The real thing was eerily similar to what he expected, but it was made so much better because it was indeed very real. Stiles’ cock was warm in his mouth and hardening by the moment. The salt of his skin only excited Derek more and the scent of him was heady with a faint trace of clean soap. Derek worked his mouth against the shaft, holding it until it held up on its own. He pulled off of it with a wet _pop_ and admired it. The cut tip was cherry red and the shaft a perfect fleshy pink, the skin sliding smoothly over the thickness of his length. Derek pulled Stiles’ balls out and fondled them briefly before sucking on each one, rolling each testicle around his lips, feeling its firmness inside the sack. He gently placed his mouth to his scrotum and hummed while stroking Stiles off slowly.

He felt Stiles lean back on his elbows and let out a long moan. It was better than Derek had imagined. “I’m so happy you trust me, Stiles. I don’t want you to stop trusting me.”

Stiles’ head came up and he looked into Derek’s eyes. “Why didn’t you come forward sooner? We’ve wasted…” here Derek continued to go down on him, “…so much timmmmmme- oh God!” His head tilted backward and he let out a moan. Derek could feel a hand in his hair gripping, then caressing, encouraging him to continue.

Derek could feel his own hardness pressing in his jeans as he ran warm hands along Stiles’ sides underneath his shirt. There was contrition and apology in every slow motion, Derek’s heart spilling over with love for this man he was so dead set against in the beginning. At this point, he couldn’t imagine not wanting to be with Stiles. He needed Stiles and Stiles needed him - or so he hoped. He still wasn’t sure about Stiles and Derek knew that a blowjob in the woods wasn’t necessarily going to change his heart.

He brought Stiles to the edge of his orgasm and dangled him over the brink for a tantalizing moment before allowing him to release into his mouth. Derek wiped his mouth with the back of one hand and looked up at Stiles. He was sex-drunk, hazy, with a loose smile on his face. 

“Can we go home now?” Derek asked him.

Stiles reached into the pocket of his jeans and fished out his keys. He dangled them in front of Derek. “You drive.”


	11. Chapter 11

They were naked and in Stiles’ bed inside of six rough kisses and eighteen moans. First Derek was on top of Stiles, but in a quick move as their lips came together again, Stiles was straddling Derek, fingers interlocked with his, hips grinding his hardness into Derek’s. It took the trip back to his home to give him time enough to recover from the _al fresco_ blowjob he had received, but now, Stiles was practically insatiable. Derek’s scent was intoxicating, his skin like a drug. Stiles moved his mouth from Derek’s and onto his throat, his tongue playing over the hollow of his collarbone and throat as he made a warm wet trail along his skin. When he reached Derek’s chest, he bit him playfully and thrilled to hear Derek giggle.

Werewolf hands were warm and strong. Stiles couldn’t ignore them as Derek traced them over his skin, along his spine, over his ass, and teased him between his cheeks. Stiles sucked on Derek’s nipple and moaned his approval. “Wanna come inside me, wolfman?” he asked, breathless.

“Want to,” replied Derek, the thought of it emblazoned in his head, “yeah.”

Stiles leaned up and kissed him quickly on the mouth before reaching over to his bedside table for some lube. “Then you’d better prep me.”

Derek smiled as Stiles went back to work on his nipple and he glided a lubed up hand between his cheeks and along his hole. Stiles was more than eager and stood up on his knees a bit more to give Derek access, his ass perked up into the air. Derek stared down along his canted back and marveled at him, at his catlike flexibility, at his slim beauty.

“Want you, Stiles,” whispered Derek.

Stiles moaned against his nipple and moved his hands down along Derek’s sides in response. He brought his mouth off with a pop and admired his work. The nubbin of skin was pink and perky. “You’re going to feel so damn good, Der,” he said. His mouth fell to Derek’s neck just below his ear and he scraped his teeth against the skin teasingly.

Derek’s fingers sank inside Stiles. The man groaned and let out a huff of breath against Derek’s neck and Derek found himself moaning with the sensation. With his free hand, Derek grabbed Stiles at the nape of his neck and brought his head up to kiss him deeply on the mouth. He could feel the throbbing in his own cock as he moved two fingers in and out of him gently.

“Condom?” asked Stiles.

“Werewolves can’t catch diseases, therefore, we can’t spread them either,” said Derek.

“Oh shit,” said Stiles. “That means I don’t have to-”

Derek nodded, confirming Stiles’ suspicions.

“Holy shit,” said Stiles again. “Never done it raw dog before.”

Derek laughed, despite himself. “Don’t ever use that term again, ok? Highly unsexy.”

“Got it,” said Stiles, a little breathless from Derek’s ministrations.

“One more and I think you’ll be ready for me,” said Derek. “What do you think?”

“Yeah,” panted Stiles. Derek could see that he was past the point of using multisyllabic words.

He fit another finger in slowly and Stiles sucked in a breath. Derek held himself still as he felt Stiles relax around his fingers. “You good?” he asked after a short while.

“Think so,” said Stiles. His eyes were unfocused, his mouth agape and pink. Derek kissed him, softly, his tongue echoing the achingly slow rhythm his fingers had adopted: as his tongue slid in against Stiles’, his fingers slid into his backside. As he drew them out, his tongue came away and eventually he felt Stiles fall into the slow tempo, his hips responding, undulating in tandem motion.

Ejaculated precum was cool against his abdomen as Derek felt himself get excited. He knew it was sticky and he wanted to stroke it all over himself but didn’t have a hand free to do so. “Stroke me off, Stiles. Please. Need it.”

Stiles braced himself with one elbow to the mattress along Derek’s side and wrapped the other around Derek’s cock. He knew now why Derek needed to put three fingers in him - Derek had some girth to him. He was going to feel so full once Derek plunged balls deep into him and when the realization hit him, he moaned again into Derek’s mouth. “So thick, Der. So fucking thick. Goddamn,” he managed.

“You like that?” asked Derek, the sensation of Stiles’ hand on his cock dizzying.

Stiles just whimpered and nodded, a helpless look in his eyes.

“Then sit on me. Take it in. Slowly.”

Derek helped him line himself up and felt the tight pressure of Stiles’ opening against his tip. He used a bit more lube on his shaft and as Stiles relaxed and slipped past his head, he slipped down smoothly over his length. Stiles sat atop him and time stopped.

It hit him now just how much he had loved Stiles, how much that love had grown over the weeks and months they were together. He wanted to protect him. He wanted to be there for him. And, Derek knew then, he wanted to watch Stiles get fucked like this for the rest of his life.

Derek ran a hand over Stiles’ chest, teasing a nipple, before following his chest hair down the treasure trail to his thatch above his cock. Derek remembered the taste of it and smiled. He took it in his hand and stroked it gently as Stiles began to move his hips, riding Derek’s cock, head tilted back, ruby lips open in an ‘O’ Derek would always want to kiss.

They moved together, Stiles making Derek gasp as he rolled and snapped his hips between long, languid strokes. It wasn’t long before Derek could feel his balls tighten and his orgasm build. Stiles was coated in a thin sheen of sweat, his panting breath loud in the room.

“D-Derek?” asked Stiles, meeting his eyes.

“Yeah?”

“You feel so good,” said Stiles.

“Do I? You feel good too, Stiles,” Derek replied. “Gonna come?”

“Y-yeah,” said Stiles. “Soon too. Gonna come hard.”

“Are you?” said Derek, a bemused grin on his face.

Stiles smiled back. “It’s all your fault, you know.”

“That,” said Derek, “I will gladly take the blame for.” Derek placed his feet on the mattress, bracketed his hands around Stiles’ hips, and tilted his hips upward, slapping himself deep into his witch. Stiles let out a moan that brought lascivious to a whole new level.

Derek came soon after, all control lost with the sight, the sound, and the scent of his witch. His ears rang when Stiles cried out his orgasm, the scent of his spunk stinging his nose. He needed to be sure, but he was pretty certain his inner wolf was waking up.

Stiles collapsed on his chest and Derek ran his hands up and down Stiles’ back soothingly. “Stiles?” Derek began.

Stiles turned his head, eyes closed, and murmured: “Hmm?” Derek figured he was already half asleep.

“I am so sorry about what happened,” he said. “And I swear on my life that I will never lie to you again. Starting right now.”

“Hmmm… good,” said Stiles. 

“I love you, Stiles Stilinski,” said Derek. He turned his head to look into Stiles’ eyes, but the witch was fast asleep splayed atop him. Derek couldn’t help but huff a laugh. “Stupid jerk,” he said, softly. He punctuated his next few words with small kisses to Stiles’ sleeping face: “Stupid. Adorable. Skinny. Defenseless. Beautiful. Imperfect. Perfect. Witch.”


End file.
